


Where The Heart Is

by cordeliadelayne



Series: The Nightingale's First Apprentice [5]
Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Case Fic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: Peter's first solo investigation now he's officially an apprentice doesn't exactly go to plan, but at least he has Nightingale to come home to.





	Where The Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seraphina_snape](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/gifts).



> Written as a Christmas present for the lovely seraphina_snape who wanted something set in my Nightingale's First Apprentice series.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, especially in the leafier of London's suburbs, that behind every great fortune lies a crime. This was especially true in Chelsea where Sahra and I were knocking on our fifteenth door of the morning trying to find a witness to a possible ABH(M) – actual bodily harm (magic suspected).

This was my first solo investigation since I'd formally been accepted on to the Folly's WAS – Wizarding Apprenticeship Scheme. There'd been a lot of oaths and even more paperwork – but Thomas and Lady Ty, as well as her sister Fleet and Mama and Father Thames, had worked surprisingly well together in order to allow me to train as a wizard. Thomas in particular was taking it all in his stride, even though it meant shaking up the way the Folly's been working since the year dot and creating a council of stakeholders who had to be kept in the loop.

Of course I did suspect that Thomas fully intended to keep the Folly's assets – a string of properties and land that I didn't think even he knew the full extent of – out of the purview of the council, but I was willing to take each new day as it came. I was already up to my eyes in Latin and Greek and had given up all pretence of imagining I'd be able to catch up to Abigail – even if I'd started before her I doubt my language skills would ever match her determination. (I'd like to think that's because I have a demanding job to hold down, but then I remember my own school days).

“So, what do you think?” Sahra asked, taking a step back and looking up at the red bricked building. “£2 mill?”

“With that original stonework?” I replied, taking in the detail around the windows and the intricate diapering along the bottom. “£3.5, easy.”

Sahra whistled appreciatively and looked up and down the road. Neither a curtain twitch nor a pram wielding yummy mummy was anywhere to be seen.

We both had our warrant cards in hand and Sahra had moved forward enough to be able to stick her foot between the door as it opened and a light skinned black man peered around the corner.

“I didn't see anything,” he said and tried to close the door on us – Sahra was faster.

“If we could just ask a few questions about what you didn't see, sir,” she said and he hesitated long enough for me to step closer and crowd him back a few steps.

The man sighed and pulled the door open so we could see the suitcases behind him.

“I have an Uber coming in two minutes.” He checked his phone. “Oh, it's your lucky day, you get five.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, smiling politely and fighting the urge to roll my eyes. I wasn't sure Sahra had been so restrained.

“We just want to know if you heard anything last night, at approximately 8.15pm Mr...?” Sahra asked, flicking open to a fresh page in her notebook.

“Dr,” he said, “Dr Felix Sheldon, I'm a lecturer at SOAS and I'm on my way to Washington DC for an important conference.”

I felt rather than saw Sahra tense up next to me – our assault victim was a student at SOAS.

“And last night, did you see anything? Hear anything?” I asked.

Felix Sheldon glanced behind me and I felt that distinctive clawing feeling in the middle of my back – not only were we being watched, but we were being watched by someone who felt like the sea and crashing waves. I chanced a quick look backwards, which naturally was the moment Felix Sheldon tried to slam the door in Sahra's face and made a run for the back of his house.

“I'll take the back,” I said even as Sahra was already running through the flat, jumping over scattered luggage and yelling for Felix Sheldon to stop.

Whatever force I'd felt, whatever river it might have been, they were gone by the time I ran down Cheyne Walk and tried to work out which way Felix Sheldon was going to go. What I hadn't expected was that he'd be coming out head first from a third floor window.

* * * * *

A death preceded by a police pursuit is not a good look, especially when we didn't have any evidence to suspect Dr Sheldon was guilty of anything other than the fact that he'd run from the police. And when that suspect is black, well, for once the higher ups were glad to see my name attached to the case.

Seawoll had agreed to by my line manager in cases like this and was already bearing down on me before Sahra and I had a chance to work out what had happened.

“You, over there,” he barked at me, pointing back towards his car. “You,” he said at Sahra, “talk to me.”

Sahra glanced over at me and Seawoll glared at the both of us until I moved away.

I considered giving Thomas a ring but that would only land the both of us in trouble so instead I just played a game on my phone and waited for the bollocking I knew was coming.

Instead a young woman with dark skin and even darker hair that went all the way down her back sidled up next to me and leaned against Seawoll's car.

“This is a crime scene,” I said, after a disconcerting moment of staring into almond shaped eyes that looked as green as the ocean.

The woman smiled, blood red lips stretching across slightly pointed teeth. “Only a special few can see me for who I really am,” she said, her voice a soft melody that had me swaying towards her until I blinked and came back to myself. Her smile only grew wider.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“You don't need to know that. Just know that he was a very bad man, and justice has been served.”

“That's not how we do things,” I said. “You can't just kill...”

“I didn't kill anyone,” she said. “He jumped.”

“Suicides usually open the window before jumping out of it,” I pointed out.

“I'll remember that for next time,” she replied. I was about to object some more, maybe even call Seawoll over, when she ran an ice cold finger along my cheek and then between one blink and the next she was gone.

* * * * *

The DPS have threatened to get me my own mug, I'm there so often, but finally, after hours of questioning and bad coffee I was allowed to go home. As ever I found myself smiling as I headed up the steps to the Folly, even though my day definitely wasn't worth smiling about. Thomas and I had finally taken the plunge and made my living there permanent, though he'd insisted that I keep my own room. Not that I used it much but sometimes when I was practising late I'd go to my own room so as not to wake him, and sometimes, on an anniversary the meaning of which he wasn't yet ready to share, he'd tell me it was better he slept alone that night. I'd stopped trying to convince him that I'd help him through his nightmares and just made sure I was there at breakfast the next day before he got down, ready with a fortifying cup of tea and the full English Molly always provided on those days.

I stopped smiling as soon as I noticed the smoke, billowing up from the kitchen. I ran towards the door only for Molly to literally block my path, her arms grabbing hold of the door frame and stopping me from getting past her.

“Molly? What's happening? Is the house on fire?”

Molly shook her head, even as more smoke billowed past us and I started to cough with it.

“Molly? What is happening?”

Molly shook her head and indicated that I should go upstairs.

“I'm not going to -” Before I could finish she had actually grabbed me, turned me around and was pushing me towards the bottom of the stairs. I was so surprised I didn't even try what would have been a pretty token protest on my part.

“Molly,” I said, turning around on the bottom step once she'd let me go. Her face remained blank. “Okay, is the house on fire?”

She shook her head.

“Are Thomas or Abigail hurt?”

She shook her head again.

“Can I do anything?”

She shook her head and then pointed up the stairs.

“So I should just go upstairs even though the hall is full of smoke?”

Molly nodded.

“Are you all right?” I added quietly. She nodded and smiled, then made a shooing motion. “Fine. I could do with an early night anyway. Tell Thomas to check his emails when he gets a chance.”

She agreed she would and then stood at the bottom of the stairs watching me until I got to my room and closed the door behind me. One of these days I'd get the hang of this, but not today.

* * * **

Thomas wasn't at breakfast which was an odd enough occurrence that I got my phone out and started to work out what he was doing. I could see that he had checked his emails (he was getting pretty good at that now) and that he'd even accessed the file on Felix Sheldon. He'd added some notes in the Folly section which included a lot of references to Sirens. I would love to have seen the look on Seawoll's face when he saw that.

But at least I knew what I'd be researching that day.

* * * * *

Thomas still wasn't back by lunch, which given that I was now knee deep in researching Sirens – renowned for luring sailors to their deaths – was starting to make me worried. I had sent him a text but that only worked if his phone was on. Or if he remembered to take it with him.

“What're working on?” Abigail asked me and I jumped and dropped my phone; I hadn't heard her come on.

“Have you been taking ninja lessons from Sahra?” I asked.

Abigail just grinned and pulled the book I'd been reading closer. “Sirens? Is that why that bloke topped himself?”

“I don't know yet,” I replied, pulling the book away from her. “Maybe. Though I don't know why she'd want to. Or how it fits in with the ABH(M). Or, come to think of it, how you know about it?”

“Have you tried talking to the first victim?” she asked, ignoring my question.

“Stephanopoulos tried, he's not willing to cooperate.”

“Bet if you mention Sirens he will,” she pointed out, and then wandered off deeper in the library to do whatever it was she did when Thomas wasn't around to keep an eye on her. I might have tried to work out what she was doing myself, if her suggestion wasn't such a good one.

* * * * *

Arthur Parsons was a short, rather chubby young man of 20 with wispy brown hair that stuck up in all directions and horn-rimmed glasses. It took Sahra and I a few minutes to persuade him to open the door but when he did I wasn't all that surprised to find that every shelf space and every wall was dedicated to Greek mythology. In the rooms where bookcases didn't span to the ceiling, paintings did and there were more books piled haphazardly against the sofa and, as Sahra discovered when she did a walk around while I chatted to Mr Parsons, books inside the fridge and oven too.

“Is this about the book?” he asked me, perched on the sofa between two piles of notebooks.

“Book?” I asked, making a space for myself on the chair opposite.

“It was all lies, you shouldn't believe anything that Dr Sheldon says.”

I settled myself down and got out my notebook. “I shouldn't believe what he says about what?”

“Them,” Parsons replied. He pointed above his fireplace to the largest picture in the room. Several naked women were encircling a boat with a man standing at the front, almost naked himself aside from some strategically placed cloth.

“Odysseus and the Sirens, 1867,” Parsons explained. “Isn't it magnificent? A copy of course.”

“Of course,” I replied, trying to work out how to frame my next question. “How long have you been interested in the subject?”

“It started with my grandfather. He used to tell me all the tales, especially about the Sirens and then I wanted to branch out, see what other cultures said out about them. That's why I enrolled at SOAS and started my Japanese degree. I wanted to be able to talk to them without them having to translate.”

“Talk to...”

“Why are you here?” he asked, suddenly sharper, his eyes focusing on me instead of the painting.

“You were assaulted,” I began, only for him to interrupt.

“I'm fine. She made it right. It's fine.” His eyes slid away from mine again and up to the painting. I was starting to get the idea that I wouldn't be finding any answers here after all.

I got up and walked out to the kitchen where Sahra was unsuccessfully looking for something in the fridge other than books.

“This is weird,” she said, “even for one of your cases.”

I hummed my agreement. “I think he's under some sort of spell or glamour. I don't know what we can do about it though, I'll have to check with Inspector Nightingale.”

“Has he replied to your texts yet?”

I knew that he hadn't but still checked my phone away. “No. Not yet.”

Sahra closed the fridge door. “Should we be worried?”

“No, I'm sure he's fine.”

“Right,” Sahra said. “Try that again when you really believe it.”

* * * * *

Before we left his house we went into the garden and, sitting on a rock by the side of what I knew to be Beverley Brook's river was the woman I'd seen yesterday, looking as if she'd always been there, even though Sahra and I definitely would have remembered if she'd been there when we'd first arrived. Probably.

“He's under our protection,” she said, voice as light and high as a skylark. “If that means something to you.”

“We're the police,” I said. “Everyone's under our protection.”

She looked over at me then and smiled. “The Nightingale picks his apprentices well,” she said. “But he is still under our protection.”

“Did you make Felix Sheldon kill himself?” Sahra asked and I flinched a little at her tone. There was no telling how powerful this woman was, given that I doubted very much that she was wholly human.

“Do you think that's possible?” she asked. “Or perhaps more importantly, do you think that will stand up in a court of law?”

Sahra looked over at me and I shook my head. This wasn't going to get that far, I could see that already.

“You can't kill people with impunity,” Sahra said. “There are laws.”

“The wizards have never concerned themselves with our affairs until now, why should the Metropolitan Police be interested?”

“Times change.”

Sahra and I turned around to see Thomas walking out into the garden to join us.

“Wizard,” the woman said, lowering her head respectfully.

“I'm afraid I don't know your name,” he said, bowing his head in return.

“You can call me Clio,” she replied. “If you must call me anything.”

“I realise we won't be able to arrest you,” Thomas said, “but an explanation would be prudent.”

Clio looked between me and Sahra and then back towards Thomas. She was probably judging how easily it would be to take the two of us out and then attack Thomas. Not easy at all I was hoping but rather than make a move she crossed her elegantly shaped legs and patted the rock beside her. Thomas gave a twist of his wrist and a flicker of magic, as precise as the ticking of a clock, swept through the garden and three garden chairs from the next door neighbour's appeared in front of us. Clio chucked to herself as we sat.

“You were saying,” Thomas said, nodding at me to start making notes. I got my pen and paper ready and started to write as she talked, even though I knew I'd be doing some pretty heavy editing on this later.

“How old do you think Arthur Parsons is?” she asked and I frowned.

“20,” Sahra replied.

“Well, perhaps he was. Once.”

Thomas shifted in his seat and I realised that Arthur Parsons was now standing at his back door, listening to us.

“How long ago?” Thomas asked.

“What do your years mean to us?” Clio replied. “All I know is there was a time he wasn't ours, and a time he was. He was a sailor once and our call spoke to him. He became ours. We care for him. We teach him. We let him grow.”

“And Dr Sheldon?” Sahra asked.

“He grew suspicious. They're in the same department at the university. We thought Arthur might like to share his knowledge and gain more in return. But Dr Sheldon proved too inquisitive.”

“And you didn't want him to join you?” I asked.

Clio smiled at me and I felt cool water dripping down my spine.

“I'd stop doing that if I were you,” Thomas said, voice quiet but deadly. The water stopped.

“My apologies. Your claim to him shall be respected.”

“You didn't answer the question,” Sahra said.

Clio turned her smile on Sahra but before she could do anything Thomas was shaking his head and her smile vanished.

“We don't always keep what we find,” Clio said. “There's as much flotsam and jetsam on the land as in the sea.”

“So you killed him?”

“You were the one chasing him, not me.”

“There are agreements,” Thomas began to say and I held back a sigh; I'd bet a day's pay that none of them were written down.

“There are,” Clio agreed. She tilted her head towards us and I could smell the sea, hear the breaking of the waves, taste the salt.

“You have to leave London,” Thomas said. “That is not negotiable.”

Clio sighed. “London is becoming tedious. Mama Thames and her daughters particularly so,” she added. I made a note to talk to Beverley about that when I got the chance. “Very well, Wizard. It would be nice to feel the sun again. Arthur, dear, start packing.”

“Of course,” Arthur said, and we heard him scurrying back inside.

“Does that satisfy your need for justice?” she asked.

“It will serve for the moment,” Thomas replied. “However....”

He never got to finish his sentence, from one blink to the next she was gone.

* * * * *

Unsurprisingly Thomas left Sahra and I to update the records back at the nick, and explain to Seawoll what had happened. I was expecting him to go ballistic but at this point he just look resigned to it.

“Death by misadventure seems the likely outcome,” he told us with a sigh. “Especially given the amount of rare SOAS library books he had in his luggage that he definitely didn't have permission to be taking out of the country. You're both in the clear. Now get out of my sight.”

So we did.

* * * ** *

Once all the i's were dotted and all the t's were crossed and Sahra and I had spent an hour in the pub – she had orange juice, I had a beer – I trudged back to the Folly, prepared to spend the rest of my night writing up the case notes for the Folly's files, where at least I would be able to sort out exactly what had happened. I'd quite like to know what Thomas had been doing for most of the day before he found us as well.

My stomach started growling as soon as I stepped inside, the smells coming from the kitchen reminding me of holidays to Sierra Leone full of spice and heat. Thomas appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray with several plates on it.

“Right on time,” he said, and I followed him into the dining room.

“What's going on?” I asked. “Did I forget an anniversary?”

The table was laid out with the Folly's finest dining set and tablecloth and two red candles to match the candles on several other tables around the room.

“No, nothing like that,” Thomas said. “Sit. Please?”

I sat down and noticed that Thomas was wearing a different suit to earlier and I was feeling decidedly underdressed.

“What's all this in aid of?”

“I just thought it would be nice to, um,” he coughed and cleared his throat. “Cook for you.”

I stared down at the plates – pepper soup, oleleh, fried cassava bread with gravy, some of my favourites that I hadn't had in years. “You cooked?”

“Well, I had a lot of help. Molly of course and, well, your mother gave me a few pointers after I – well I think you saw what happened yesterday.”

“The smoke? That was you – you were...” I trailed off. I don't think anyone's ever cooked for me before. Not like this.

“It'll be getting cold,” Thomas said, picking up a fork and clearly wanting to spare either of us the discomfort of voicing our feelings over the dinner table.

“Where's Abigail?” I asked for something to say and then started on my soup, which was delicious.

“Staying with Tameka for a few days. They're supposed to be making a start on their Christmas shopping this weekend.”

I nodded and then took a bit of the fried cassava bread, the bread was dry and chewy but the gravy was an explosion of spices and I could taste my mother's influence as much as I could Thomas' care and precision.

Thomas was absent-mindedly eating his own food and very carefully not asking me the very question I knew he wanted to. I decided to put him out of his misery sooner rather than later.

“It's delicious. You did a great job.”

“Really?” Thomas asked, looking adorably unsure of himself.

“Yes, really,” I replied. I let my foot drift up and down his leg. “And I intend to say thank you properly later.”

“Oh, well,” he said, flustered and with a hint of pink in his cheeks. “Like I always say, hard work pays off.”

I grinned. “I hope you've got the energy for some more hard work.” And I pressed my foot into his crotch, pressing down just enough to know that he was as eager for dinner to be over as I was.

“I'm sure I'll find some from somewhere,” he replied, his smile lighting up his eyes as much as it warmed me.

And, of course, he did.

After dessert though, obviously.


End file.
